From The Ashes
by crazedfanatic
Summary: On the surface, the job had seemed so simple. After taking a bullet to the head however, the sixth Courier struggles to decipher the mystery behind the platinum chip... and exact vengeance on the person that left her dying in an unmarked grave.


**From The Ashes**

A Fallout: New Vegas Retelling

Slight AU. Rated T for some mature themes, mild language and violence.

* * *

She botched it.

That was her first thought as her senses came back to her. It was her first delivery after landing the job at the Mojave Express, and she botched it.

The restraints were tied tight- she had tried tugging at them- and the bag over her head made it hard to breathe. Her head hurt from getting bashed in earlier, and _boy did it hurt like a bitch_. She grimaced. Great. So here she was, kneeling in a freshly-dug grave in a graveyard in the middle of nowhere.

"Can we just get this over with?"

She glanced around, instantly recognizing the black man. He was the one who had brandished the sinister-looking machine gun during their clash earlier.

"Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face," said the man in the checkered suit, "but I ain't a fink. Dig?"

Khans, as in Great Khans? Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the... Khan's fists clench and unclench, his eyes narrow. Apparently they weren't on good terms. Hired guns, maybe. It was hard to envision someone who walked the wastes in a dapper suit being friends with the likes of raiders.

Turning his attention back to her, the man in the suit pulled out a casino chip from his breast pocket- or rather, a casino chip that gleamed unnaturally in the light from the campfire. The platinum chip.

"You've made your last delivery, kid. Sorry you got twisted up in this scene."

It sounded hollow coming out of his mouth, and even more so when he drew a pistol from his suit. _First and last delivery_, she corrected under her breath, unable to keep the anger out of her words. She trembled.

"From where you're kneeling it must seem like an eighteen-carat run of bad luck," he continued. "But the truth is…"

He leveled the pistol at her, and her breath hitched.

"…The game was rigged from the start."

A flash, and a loud crack like a whip. Hot, searing pain that made her want to scream her throat out.

* * *

Slowly, painfully, she cracked open an eye. Brightness filled her vision, and it was everywhere she looked. Where was she?

Then she remembered everything.

It was all too surreal. She had thought she'd died and landed in heaven- really, she did- but then the light had faded and she was staring at a slowly-rotating fan and a ceiling constructed out of wooden planks.

"You're awake." There was a sudden voice to her left. "How 'bout that."

Startled, she sprung up into a sitting position and quickly regretted it as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

"Easy there!" Calloused hands grabbed her shoulders, just in time to prevent her from flopping back on the mattress. She turned and regarded him, trying hard to blink the giddiness away.

It was an old man, she noted. Judging by the rings around his eyes he had been staying vigilant at her side ever since.

Cracking a warm smile, he let go and eased back in his chair. "Well, well. It sure is glad to see you up and running so quickly. The name's Mitchell, but you can call me Doc if you want. What's your name?"

"...Rachel," she said, hesitating. "Rachel Monroe. Where am I?"

"The town of Goodsprings. My house, to be exact." The doctor reached for a mirror. "Here, take a look. I tried my best to patch you up, but… well. You can see for yourself."

She looked. Stared at her own reflection in the mirror, at the bandages wrapped tightly around her head, around the left side of her face. Then, little by little, like a great weight slowly descending on her from above, it hit her.

It all became clear now- why her left eye couldn't blink when her right eye could. She was _shot_, in the face, simply because she happened to pick up the wrong package at the wrong time. Once again, fate had dealt her the worst cards in the deck, and she could do little else but roll along with it.

So Rachel cried. She let everything out, sobbing and sniffing and getting snot all over the blanket as the good doctor looked on with a mixture of sadness and pity.

"…You well enough to move?" He began when she started to quiet down.

"Y-Yeah, I think so," she said, sniffling a little.

"Well then," he finished, getting up from his seat. "Let's get you checked up, see if your faculties are still running right. Come join me in the living room when you're feeling up to it."

Her eye followed the doctor as he disappeared around the corner. _Calm down, girl, _she told herself, her sobs already becoming intermittent hiccups. _You can get through this, just like you did the last time._

Gently, she rose from the bed, placing one foot on the floor, then another as her legs tried to get used to moving after days of inactivity. Having only one eye threw her balance for a loop and the pulsing headache merely added to a long list of troubles. Eventually though, she made her way to the living room and lowered herself to the worn couch, watching as the doctor pulled out a number of tools from his bag.

"I'll bet you're just aching to know how you survived a shot to the face." He said while shining a pocket light in her eye. "Fella didn't aim well- the bullet traveled through your eye and out your temple. Can't say much for his marksmanship, though with luck like that I'm surprised the bullet didn't go right back in."

"Some luck of mine to get shot in the first place," she blurted out before she could stop herself. They shared a laugh.

"You're fine physically, but I'll have to admit I'm a little concerned for your wellbeing," he patted her on the shoulder. "How do you feel?"

"Shocked, I guess." She sniffed. _A lot of hate,_ she didn't say. Thoughts on how to kill the man in the suit surfaced (disturbingly).

The doctor frowned. "Hm. I'd presume nearly getting killed would do that to you. Where're you from?"

"Um, the west coast. Only came here recently." She bit her lip. "Don't ask why."

"So young, too," he quipped. "I suppose the welcoming party hasn't been too kind. Here, take this and get dressed."

He handed her a jumpsuit, kept in quite a good condition. Apparently one of those from the Vaults scattered around the country. This one happened to be from Vault 21, she noted absently, and began slipping it on.

"It was my wife's, and I figure she was about your size. Don't want the townsfolk complaining about your modesty after all."

As she tied the laces on her boots, Rachel felt a slight blush coming on. She didn't really want to know how exactly the good doctor had known her sizes and what she was doing in her underwear in the first place.

The doctor waited patiently at the entrance clutching the straps of a worn backpack between his fingers. Rachel found herself wondering where it came from- she didn't think those men would have been kind enough to bury her with her belongings.

"There you are," he greeted her, passing the pack to her. "Now, your wounds haven't healed yet, so don't go remove those bandages any time soon. Give it a few weeks or so."

Rachel bobbed her head meekly, giving the backpack a glance-over. When moving it, she noticed it clinked and _clanged _with a few items that she was sure hadn't been with her at the time of her failed execution. With a little bit of hesitation she pulled the top open, reaching in and rifling through the contents.

She found food wrapped in used paper, some miscellaneous first aid, a canteen... she blushed at the realization that this was a gift of sorts and that she had torn through it so ravenously. The doctor seemed not to take notice of it though, so she merely zipped it back up. With a little bit of embarrassment from before, she slung it around her shoulders, making sure to secure it properly.

Now, however, it was the doctor's turn to look bashful as he fished out a familiar note. "I took the liberty of going through your stuff when we found you, and I found this note," he began somewhat sheepishly. "So you work for the Mojave Express?"

Seeing the delivery order brought back a few memories. Unpleasant ones. Rachel looked away as she crumpled the worn paper in her fingers. "Yeah," she said. "That's how I got into this mess, Doc. What I was delivering happened to be more important than it should've been."

"Oh." There was a period of silence. "What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," Rachel answered honestly, fiddling with the straps on her backpack. "Maybe I'll go back to the headquarters to try and work things out from there. Maybe I'll stay here for a while." She frowned. "I can't really say, Doc, my head's a mess as it is."

"Very well." The doctor nodded, seemingly satisfied with her reply. And then he pulled out a pistol.

Rachel froze. _What?_

The doctor grasped her hands with his and pressed it into them. She relaxed visibly- she should have realized that the man in front of her was possibly the last person in the world that would think of harming her. Playing around with the weapon in her hand, she noted that it looked similar to the one she had been shot with, albeit with a little more rust marring its surface.

"Be careful," he admonished lightly. "It's loaded."

She shook her head, pushing the gun back to him. "I can't take this."

"_Take it,_" the doctor said more force than she thought he could muster. "I don't have much use for it anyway. The Mojave is a dangerous place- I reckon you'll get more out of it than I ever will."

Rachel paused, looked at the gun in her hands, then back at the man who gave it to her. He did so much for her- heal her, clothe her, feed her and even give her a loaded gun within his very home. He did so much for a mere stranger he happened to stumble across one fateful night. She could never repay him enough, not in this lifetime. So she did what she could.

She hugged him.

"Thanks, Doc," she choked out. The tears flowed freely once more. "For everything."

"There, there." Rachel felt him pat her back soothingly. "You're welcome."

She broke out of the hug somewhat unwillingly, her sobs quelled by the doctor's kind smile. "I-I should probably head into town."

"You should," said the doctor. "Speak to Sunny Smiles when you get there. She's the town protector of sorts, and you could learn a lot from her."

"How do I find her?" She asked, wiping at her eye.

"For starters, she's the only woman in town that carries around a rifle," he quipped. "Shouldn't be hard to find."

Rachel thought for a moment. This Sunny Smiles was probably a real badass if she could keep Goodsprings this peaceful by herself. She guessed the doctor did have some merit in his recommendation.

"Okay then. Um, I'll be going now, Doc. And thanks."

With a final wave, Rachel pushed open the door to the house, stepping out into the world beyond. Warm sunlight caressed her being as she took her first steps out of the safety of Doc Mitchell's house and into the unforgiving wasteland.

A new beginning.

**TBC**

Need beta readers if any, and reviews (of course)

EDIT (30/1/10): Rewrote some parts of the story (again)

Credits: My friend Clement, who stuck with me throughout and helped a lot in vetting the draft. IMFDB as well. To Obsidian, for such an entertaining game (The 3rd RPG I have played to completion to date) and the Fallout Wiki for related information.

Disclaimer: Fallout New Vegas is the property of Bethesda and Obsidian, and no way am I laying claim to their work.


End file.
